


Call It Like It Is (A Goddamn Shame)

by epanistamai



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotions, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reconciliation, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4518105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epanistamai/pseuds/epanistamai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So apparently, textbooks are all written by either politically-neutered milquetoasts or culturally bankrupt morons.  Because every single one is dead wrong about the Howling Commandos.”  In which Sam keeps a journal for the first few months he lives in Stark's mansion-house-lab-phallic structure.  For therapy reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. FUBAR

**Author's Note:**

> Still very salty (pretending to forget that AoU happened) so here's to ignoring asinine parts of it.  
> Also Sam is fantastic and wonderful and everyone should love and deeply appreciate his being.
> 
> (Chapter Warnings: Self-harm, PTSD)

Sam had loved WWII history ever since his father let him watch The Dirty Dozen, after making him swear to not tell him mother about it. The grittiness of the film, the scenes of bravery and camaraderie tempered with betrayal and a thoroughly Hollywood twist of drama threw Sam into raptures like nothing else. In fact immediately after the film ended, he had begged his father to rewind the tape and play it all over again. Naturally, his father refused, beginning to recognize a spark of something in his son's eyes. Cecil Wilson knew the beginnings of one of his son's obsessive fits when he saw it and he wanted no part in this one.  
Naturally, Sam took it into his own hands.

The day after he watched the movie, he had run to the library to find WWII books, dragging along his bemused sister as chaperone. And books he had found, carrying home several thick tomes promising detailed accounts of everything from Guadalcanal to The Battle of the Bulge and most importantly, biographies of Captain America and the Howling Commandos. Those stories, he loved the best, primarily because they were simpler to follow and, now that he thought about it, carefully designed to cast both the Commandos and the American military-science union in a noble light. He remembered particularly liking Gabe Jones and Bucky Barnes, as both of them seemed marginally more fun and vivid than Captain America, forever the straight-laced paragon of American Virtue.  
Every dinner conversation, for a month and a half, devolved into a 'tell and then tell some more' about WWII battles and strategies. The last few weeks saw his family finishing dinner faster than they had even when Mrs. Hendricks from next door invited herself in for a gossip session.  
At the height of his Captain America/Howling Commandos/WWII mania, he had asked his mother whether she could buy the Captain America and Howling Commandos figurines in the toy store but she had simply sighed and told him to paint his already fairly vast G. I. Joe collection red, white, and blue. Then she reminded him that he'd be starting middle school and that books and supplies would need to be bought. Which hadn't been. And wait what was he doing reading up on useless history factoids when he could be preparing for his, no doubt, grueling middle school education regime? When she got back home, she was going to dust off that middle school math book she'd gotten for him when he was in fourth grade and they'd start working through those problems. And that had been the end of his WWII obsession for a while.

Several years later, during his ninth grade American History class, he was introduced formally to Captain America and the whole of American involvement in the second World War, so that the tactics and names that had simply confused him when he first read about them began to make more sense. However, the treatment of Captain America and the Howling Commandos still remained a stiff and fairly rote topic. He had more understanding of the strategies guiding the band of men, but their pasts remained a fairly vague idea with only half a lecture spent talking about how Steve had spent much of his childhood ill and orphaned with only Barnes there to watch out for him. And a handful of lines about the rest of the Commando's upbringing, so trite and basic that the Morita family's internment camp experience wasn't even touched on. His high school history lecture was no better. Maybe a few lines about Japanese internment that remained couched in passively neutral tones. 

Finally, when Sam was in college, in the middle of a particularly dry lecture on Hegelian discourse, he realized what had bothered him about all those mild textbooks and evasive lectures. Sam still didn't know those men. Not in the way that he now knew all about the Founding Father's proclivities and every nuance of The Federalist Papers. None of his teachers had shown the same passion about those mens' personal lives the same way that his Intro Biology teacher had show about Watson and Crick's personal lives. He almost lost the rest of the lecture, he was so disturbed about this sudden thought that he knew next to nothing about how Commandos laughed, lived. His roommate had laughed at him when he tried explaining it. “What's the point? They're dead and they're icons. That's what happens when you become an icon, you get neutered,” Aaron had huffed. Sam didn't have the words to explain why it was so important that they know what those men were really like. He just knew that it was important, in the way that knowing about Napoleon's personality was important to his Modern European History teacher.

And then he found Captain America. Rather, Steve Rogers had found him and Sam realized that the history books about him, about all the men and about Agent Carter, were worthless.

You learn a lot about people when you fight with them, what they really about. In short, nothing makes a hero put their money where their mouth is like when an international agency is out for their collective heads. In this way, Sam had learned a lot about Steve and Natasha, during the entire SHIELD fiasco. He knew the set of Steve's feet when he was resolute about doing something very dangerous and probably very heroic as well. He knew that Natasha's hands curled inward when she saw a child wandering around alone. He knew that Steve, in a spectacular act of overcompensation, actually leans forward when fighting hand-to-hand, taking ground when there should have been none to give. He knows that Natasha flinches (almost imperceptibly) when a plan goes wrong, that after an alternate plan succeeds in its place, she would rip at her nails in place of sleeping.

The almost decade long culmination of his college lecture revelation ends with Sam deciding to move into Stark's 28.7 billion dollar treehouse club. For the first few months, after the SHIELD fiasco and a flash introduction and meet-and-greet with the rest of the Avengers, Sam had genuinely tried to continue on with life as normal. Sometimes he went with Steve on his searches because Steve needed the aerial support (and maybe someone to talk to because there was too much weight). And Sam would drag Steve to hole-in-the-wall joints of whatever city they were in and simply let Steve enjoy eating with another breathing person. But most of the time he stayed in D.C. Sometimes, he'd get messages, always from unknown and untraceable numbers, a slightly husky woman's voice reciting the date and a city name. Maybe a few remarks about the road quality, the food, the local ballet troupes.  
But he still had counseling sessions to lead, one-on-one therapy sessions, and occasional get-togethers with Army buddies and the very few college friends he still kept close to. He had to pretend he wasn't itching to get back into the action, that he was over it when he was discharged.

It was no surprise to Sam that, after four months of almost no contact from Steve, they would meet almost exactly the same way. Steve standing resolute at his door, Natasha putting up a relaxed facade. The only thing different was the pale figure standing behind Steve, face almost soft without the grease paint and shadows around it. Steve's eyes turned soft and pleading the minute Sam made eye contact with him, his body starting to sag from exhaustion. Sam opened the door wider and begins ribbing Steve about maybe warning a guy because his fridge's contents will not endure the onslaught of two super soldiers, an augmented master spy, and a human garbage disposal.  
He notices that Barnes's nails are almost bloody, the ends jagged.

Of course, when it was apparent that Steve needed to move into Stark Tower to keep Barnes safe and maybe also to provide a lock down measure (in case Barnes panicked attacked his way out of Steve's immediate reach or tried returning to HYDRA or began killing off the team or any number of things), Sam started packing his own bags.  
Sam knew he'd be needed. The Tower was, no doubt, a pressure-cooker of issues because there was no such thing as a well-adjusted Avenger, apparently. (Sam is putting Thor in the grey zone because he's not actually met the man. Pepper assures him that Thor will visit in nine days, for Dr. Jane Foster's birthday.) But then again, actually talking with Nick Fury has convinced him that the man hoards damaged people like Sam used to hoard G.I. Joes. Like to like.  
Tony seemed to believe that Pepper was enough of a minder for him and as such, also managed to utterly ignore Pepper's concerns so there went that. Steve and Natasha were masters at pretending nothing was wrong up until they retreated into their rooms to probably quietly break down and chew glass. Bruce labored under the impression that everything was under control except when it wasn't and then he would stop where he stood, enveloped by a week's worth of guilt. And Barton, well, he might know that man the least but he had once seen the man's face when he thought everyone else was gone and it looked as empty as Sam's probably had, the first week after he lost Riley. And the Soldier. Sam didn't even know where to start, except back to the trauma survivor therapist textbooks, poring over the worst cases and desperately mapping out methods to calm Barnes down, to make him feel at ease, to just do something.  
It wasn't that he didn't trust Steve or Natasha, the people who knew Barnes the best. (But did they really? Right now, in this century, this year, at today's stilted and quiet breakfast?) It was that Steve was too devoted and self-sacrificing to push Barnes when he needed to be pushed and to back away when he needed his space. It was that Natasha only knew psychology when it came to interrogations and to intimidating people. It was because the knowledge of what Barnes needed did not always translate into the right actions.  
Sam knew it was a tight line to walk. He'd seen veterans who'd been one more night terror away from ending it all drag themselves out of hell through the right support system, the right people doing the right things. He'd also seen people who were so close to maybe moving on and managing suddenly drop off, commit suicide, relapse. The right people doing the wrong things, the wrong people doing the wrong things, the list goes on and on. And Sam doesn't think he can ever really do right by all of veterans who come to him. He was there once but that doesn't mean he knows what another veteran's “there” is like.  
All Sam knows is that he had been so close once and somehow come out on the other side, missing pieces instead of chunks. 

Yeah, starting this journal had been a good idea, he thought as he stared down at fifteen completely filled pages.


	2. SNAFU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is turning into a running string of drabbles, all centered around Sam. Also this is turning out to be a very slow-build with an untold number of chapters (I hope everyone's okay with that?).

   Sam would like to blame Tony but he knows, deep down, that this was a collective effort. Although it does make perfect sense that Tony would be the biggest (or rather, the only) otaku in the building given that over half of the Avengers didn't even watch television growing up.

   And no, Sam refuses to count Natasha's 'Motherland's Educational Videos' as television.

   The point is, none of them, Sam included, has moved from in front of the 150” curved screen in the den, intent on powering through all of Sailor Moon. All of it.

   Sam remembers his sister mentioning something about multiple seasons spanning multiple decades and wants to both cry for himself and apologize to the world because crime is going to go unstopped for the next couple days.

   Sam is a bit too busy looking around and keeping tabs on everyone to tune in at the beginning and as a consequence, is a bit lost by the time of the third episode. The confused questions and appeals to Tony have died down by now, everyone settling into their fate. They're all starting to get the look Sam associates more with over-fed cows than with humans, a kind of slack and empty gaze fixed upon middle distance. Or a TV screen. Actually calling it a real home theater screen would be a more apt label.  
Tony's leaning forward on the couch with his hands loose and dangling, Steve is slouched with his hand hauling popcorn into his mouth looking like Dummy if Tony had programmed Dummy to do nothing but shovel popcorn into a bottomless cavern. Natasha and Clint are curled next to each other, their expressions never going, in intensity, beyond bluntly captive. Bruce's eyes are half-lidded and it's more likely that he's taken a brain nap rather than continue actively watching. Sam doesn't even want to know what he looks like. He knows he feels like his ass has fused with the couch cushion and that nothing short of a chainsaw will separate the two.

   Barnes, well firstly it's a miracle Barnes came out at all. The minute Steve had shown Barnes his room, yesterday, the man had sequestered himself in there and firmly closed the door. Steve was left to slowly move his few possessions in, taking frequent breaks to stare at Barnes's door, as though the sheer sadness in his gaze should be enough to break down the door and bring the man called Bucky out.

   Speaking of which, Steve still insisted on calling Barnes 'Bucky'. Sam can't help thinking about the idea of distance, of the fact that Steve either takes, or makes, matters personal. Calling a brainwashed, former assassin with roughly seventy years spent accruing severe PTSD (along with a kill count in the triple digits) by his best friend's first name seems too optimistic. Optimistic in the sense that Sam really doesn't want Steve to be hurt if Barnes never remembers him, never recovers anything. Optimistic in the sense that Sam can't see calling up the name of someone long buried in the Soldier's mind will help. Optimistic in the sense that Steve silently mourning for a best friend is pressure in and of itself, something that the Barnes could never truly live up to, even if all his memories (somehow, miraculously) came back. Optimistic in the sense that Barnes did come back, did stay the night, is here by the couch. Optimistic because Barnes actually ate breakfast today, with Steve.

   Sam remembers Ruth, the topic of several sermons his parents took him to, the woman who gave up everything to follow her husband.

   But either way, Barnes is here, quietly occupying a space at the foot of the couch, near Steve's legs. However, his face is still in an expression of mute apprehension, carefully blank eyes roving around the room, never settling long enough to truly focus on the television. Sam can literally seen, outlined by the screen’s light, the tendons on Steve's hands, flexing constantly.  
Barnes had gone stiff and shook lightly the last (first) time Steve tried to envelope him in a hug.  
_Entreat me not to leave thee_ , indeed.

   Sam resolves to talk to Steve later, when everyone else is gone.

   The only slightly funny thing about all this is that the candy-bright tones of the anime reflect as brilliant sparkles in everyone's eyes, as though they're all living anime characters. It is also possible that Sam has lost track of what's happening aside from the occasional yell of “By the power of the moon!” or something. Also tuxedos and ridiculously short skirts on ridiculously long legs all coupled by the constant thought that this was supposed to be a representation of an eighth grade girl.  
But still. It's a damn good show to be showing, with all the people here.

   About twelve or so episodes in Pepper enters, her heels ringing out on the marble tiling of the kitchen. She stop dead, no doubt taking in the state of the gathered Avengers, and promptly turns around and leaves.

<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>

   Fortunately for Sam, 'magical girl' purgatory goes on a dinner break so that everyone can shout at JARVIS what take-out order they want. It's from that schwarma place again because apparently Tony still thinks that sequence of events hilarious. Sam wasn't there but due to a combination of every news channel pulling up key videos of the final showdown whenever the Avengers did something more serious than grocery shopping, Tony giving a loving play-by-play of all the amazing quips he got off during combat, and Steve's actually clear rundown of events, Sam feels confident enough that he could fake having been there fighting. It's both a blessing and a curse because he now functions as the only source that his parents and his sisters have for gossip relating to that event in particular. Even worse, his younger sister simply can't get enough of Stark's quips because of course she would.

   Dinner can only be described as 'food carnage' because apparently working through five bags of popcorn and potato chips only whets the appetite. The way Steve and Natasha eat while on a mission and the way they eat among friends is amazingly different. On missions, they both eat quickly, Steve only eating the foods that provide maximum calories with minimum fuss, often not even taking the time to chew through it all. Natasha eats almost furtively, eyes darting around even as she neatly powers through whatever she has.

   But here, they both eat slower, more relaxed. Natasha actually looks at her food, uses her hands when eating, and offers dry little critiques about her food's quality. Steve cuts his food and seems to ponder every bite, even as he finishes all five cartons.  
Banner eats like Natasha did on missions. Still. Quick and birdlike except unlike Natasha, over half of his take-out carton is still left after he pushes it all away.  
Barnes eats when Steve prompts him, mechanically bringing the food to his mouth and chewing exactly twelve times before swallowing. His eyes never leave the spot on the wall across from him and his knee never stops gently bouncing.  
Both Tony and Barton seem to have perfected eating with one hand and doing something else with another hand, without losing efficiency for either activity. Currently, both are using their free hand to continue a game of Jenga that had been started the night before. Sam gives them about three minutes before the game will be over.

   Sure enough, the tower goes down on Barton's turn, spraying wooden blocks all over the table and even a few onto the food. Tony, crowing something about 'victor's rights', makes Barton clean up the mess.

   After this, Tony herds everyone back into the den for Round Two of Sailor Moon. Sam almost actually sobs.


End file.
